Command Decision (8 page)

He told Cliff how Intelligence had traced out the Czech’s genealogy, how they had put infra-red cameras on night fighters and photographed the Focke-Schmidts, which only came out of hiding after dark, on the aprons of three camouflaged factory airfields. Then, leaving the graph, Dennis pulled the mask from the operational map and revealed the little triangle of black dots.

“Posenleben, Schweinhafen, and Fendelhorst. That’s Operation Stitch, for Stitch in time….”

Garnett whistled. “They’re far enough in.”

“Marshal Milch thinks better of us these days,” said Dennis ruefully.

“What’s the present limit of fighter cover, Casey?”

Dennis picked up a piece of blue crayon and swung the arc on the plexiglass map cover. Garnett didn’t even bother to reach for the measuring tape. The gap between line and dots was too clear.

As he proceeded with his exposition Dennis noticed that Kane was studying Garnett as intently as Garnett was studying the problem. He had forgotten Cliff’s capacity for concentration and for absorbing information rapidly. The counter questions were pointed and pertinent. Dennis had time to reflect that the United Chiefs probably asked sharp questions, too. He could see that Kane, like himself, was trying to read the Chiefs through their secretary. But it was also part of the secretary’s business to keep his thoughts to himself.

Dennis was sure, however, that Garnett comprehended the gravity of this. The struggle for aerial supremacy in Europe was measurable in the multi-colored lines that slashed those quarter-inch crossings of graph paper. It was impossible, of course, to graph so coldly the capabilities of the boys who would work out the proof of this hypothesis. Dennis ran through the last details and came to the climax.

“This curve was made, Cliff, with four 30-millimeter cannon mounted.”

He could see Garnett’s brief silence reducing this last arithmetic to its shocking significance in range and lethal burst.

“Good God! How were they?”

“Sweet up to thirty-five thousand. That’s enough.”

It was. Garnett took a long breath.

“Casey, why hasn’t this technical data been reported?”

“It has. Through channels. You’ll hear from it in about a year.”

A rueful nod. Then:—

“What’s your honest opinion, Casey?”

“This can run us out of Europe in sixty days.”

Kane broke into protest.

“That’s giving them absolute perfection in production, in testing, in crew conversion, in armament operation, in spotting, signals, control, tactics…” He paused, plainly groping for still further margin between himself and the blunt truth.

“That’s giving them thirty days to get two groups operational and thirty more to catch one of our columns for just half an hour, sir. I put that in the report, Cliff.”

“Why didn’t you send this report to us?” asked Garnett.

Dennis did not answer. Garnett turned from him slowly for a deliberate, inquiring scrutiny of Kane. The Major General stirred like a man trying to shake off a bad dream.

“I couldn’t endorse such alarming conclusions, Cliff. This would disturb the United Chiefs at the very time when everything depends on our getting well established here, on an acceptable loss basis, for the good of the whole service.”

“You didn’t agree with the report then, sir?”

“Nobody could prove these assumptions now,” said Kane angrily. “We have experimental jobs of our own that could be hotted up to test like that with Ted or Casey flying. I did send a preliminary appreciation that we could not exclude the possibility of encountering an unsuspected enemy capability.”

“Did you approve this Operation Stitch, sir?”

Kane’s ruddy face was dark purple.

“I told General Dennis that this operation constitutes a tactical emergency within the scope of division commanders’ directives. If, in his opinion, the threat justifies countermeasures…”

“That’s my opinion, Cliff,” said Dennis. “It’s my rap.”

Kane flashed him a grateful glance but Garnett shook his head.

“Your losses are the United Chiefs’ rap, Casey. As a matter of fact that’s what I’m over here about. A lot of our people were very upset, even before yesterday. A very substantial body of opinion still doesn’t believe we can succeed with daylight precision bombardment.”

“A very substantial body of opinion didn’t believe in the Wright brothers, either.”

“It isn’t quite that simple, Casey. This program is making a terrible drain on our overall resources of the very best manpower and matériel. I may as well tell you that the United Chiefs are having another Global Allocation meeting on Tuesday.”

There was instant relief in realizing what had been wrong with Kane today. He had already known this, Dennis gathered.

“Tuesday… I’ve had to wait three weeks for this run of weather, Cliff. You can only count on about one three-day run a summer here. But we got Posenleben yesterday and Schweinhafen today and this is only Saturday. Weather thinks it will be okay for Fendelhorst tomorrow. We can finish before that meeting can do anything to us.”

“Have you thought what losses like this might do to that meeting?”

He had been thinking of exactly that. Kane took up the slack of the silence.

“This could upset the whole larger picture, Casey.”

“Would you rather have Goering upset it, sir?”

“That’s
still
an assumption,” said Kane plaintively. “The overall plan calls for me… for us to have the largest bomber force in the Hemisphere. These two days are going to be a terrible shock to the Chiefs, Casey. I’m not at all sure that, for the good of the whole service, I’m justified in permitting a third…”

“You’ve got to, sir,” snapped Dennis. “Concentration is the crux of this matter. You agreed to that before I started.”

“Why? Why just now?” inquired Garnett.

“Weather,” said Dennis. “It may be a month before we can get back to Fendelhorst. These two attacks have tipped our hand. Half the rolling flak in Germany is probably on its way there right now. They’ll either make it impregnable or disperse that machinery until we never find it unless we get it in the next forty-eight hours.”

Garnett nodded absently but his frown reflected a detachment from such details
as European weather. Kane and Dennis regarded each other stonily. Then even before their ears could hear the first faint roaring, the three men with one accord made for the windows as everything else in their minds gave way to the pressure of the returning Fortresses.

Chapter 4

They came fast and, this afternoon, low. The first seemed to spring out of the treetops across the field. The sight of them steadied Dennis.

Two others darting in from another angle were already above him now, bulky and ugly as they always appeared at these deceptive short angles. Both were yawing jerkily from the grasping suction of gaping shot holes. But they had zigzagged that way from Germany and their motors were steady. They would make it to the ground. He dismissed them, extending his quick estimates to the next ones with the hot familiar pain kneading his stomach as he did.

They were badly scattered. He knew that they usually broke formation about mid-Channel after a run like this one but more than drying gas tanks had spread them out today. As his eyes assessed the damage expertly he realized that he had not yet seen two of them which could have flown closely enough to each other to make normal formation safe… five… six… eight… he did not know that he was counting aloud unconsciously as every pair of lips on the station always counted. He could hear Garnett’s low exclamation distinctly.

“Look at those props!”

He had counted six feathered ones himself before the building shook with the wash of the planes immediately overhead and the Forts vanished, leaving the sky behind them still athrob with their receding vibrations. Dennis wet his lips and knew with minor comfort that he was not going to puke today, bad as it was.

“I made it eleven.”

“So did I,” said Garnett. “What’s squadron strength?”

“Twelve, if it was a squadron.”

Kane blenched visibly. “That isn’t the remains of a Group, is it, Casey?”

“I can’t tell yet, sir.”

Kane exploded: “Well, find out! Find out at once.”

Dennis had to check himself. Kane was not as used to this as he was. Without risking a reply he strode rapidly through the Ops room door and closed it behind him. The room quieted; the vibration of this particular bunch was lost now in the gentle sea of lesser vibrations coming from every side as the remainder of the Division converged around the other near-by bases.

With the departure of Dennis, Kane took a conscious grip on himself and turned from the window to Garnett, who was still staring out speechless at what he had seen.

“Cliff, what will Washington think of this?”

It took Cliff several seconds to clear that spectacle from his mind. When he had done it he measured his words gravely.

“I wish they’d had some preparation, sir.”

“I never dreamed Casey would be so… so impetuous.”

“Can you reach Washington by telephone, sir?”

“Not from here. I can by teleprinter from Joe Endicott’s division, forty miles from here. Cliff, you don’t think a… a misfortune now could really affect overall allocation, do you?”

Garnett thought aloud: “Two successive loss records… 20 to 25 percent… with no warning…”

“We’ll have claims though… records claims. The Chief loves those.”

“I’m not thinking of our Chief, sir.”

He was spared further consideration for the moment by Prescott, who hurried in, and by Brockhurst, who sauntered slowly after.

“Sir, Brockie has some ideas I think you should hear.”

“All right, Brockie. Tell us frankly.”

Brockhurst studied Kane’s evident agitation and let him wait a little. He still resented his eviction from the military council. He had kept the secrets of bigger men than Kane and he was always infuriated by the army’s assumption that no one out of uniform was trustworthy.

From Prescott he had learned all he needed to know about the Jenks case; but he was after bigger game. He needed Kane’s help and he wanted Kane to understand that he was going to help.

“You want it rough or smooth, R. G.?” he asked quietly.

“Let’s have it.”

“Your neck’s out a foot.”

“
My
neck…?”

“It’s your baby unless you can buck it up to the Hemisphere Commander. You’ve got a hero to court-martial and you’ve got losses that’ll sound like Verdun in America. You’ve let this Secret Security Policy of yours keep the whole deal so dark it’s going to look like a cover for the worst blunder since Pearl Harbor. After all, the public makes these bombers and sends you these kids, it’s got a right to know…”

He stopped as Dennis hurried in from the Ops room still smoldering with suppressed anger. The very force of it made even Kane glance at him apprehensively; his voice was oddly conciliatory.

“Casey, Elmer here is giving us his reaction. I want you to hear it.”

“He knows it,” said Brockhurst. “I tried to warn him that the press and public…”

“Press and public be goddamned,” said Dennis. “Your syndicate would ambush a whole division for one headline and then print enough crocodile tears to keep us from ever making a useful attack again.”

“When did we ever…?”

“After Bremfurt. We needed a second attack to finish that job. By the time you got done with our losses and Washington got done explaining your insinuations, we got an order that it was politically impossible to attack the place again.
Politically impossible!
Some of our boys were killed today with cannon made at Bremfurt since that attack.”

Brockhurst subsided. It was useless to explain now that he himself had been heartily ashamed of what his people had made of that unfortunate episode. Kane turned aside the Brigadier’s wrath.

“Was that a group or a squadron, General?”

“The 641st Group, sir. Some stragglers are still coming.”

“How many?”

“Three reported so far, sir.”

They were all thinking the same thing. Kane said it.

“Fourteen out of thirty-six.”

“Thirty-four, sir; two aborted this morning.”

Kane shuddered. “That’s over 50 percent.”

“Nearly 59, sir,” said Major Prescott.

“How about the other groups, General?”

“Incomplete, so far, sir. Radio silence is still on except for serious cripples.”

They regarded each other through a short, heavy silence. The vibrations of the homing Forts were almost imperceptible. Kane cleared his throat.

“See if you can get anything more, will you, General?”

Dennis understood that this second dismissal from his own office was less a rebuke than a precaution. He was not ashamed of having lost his temper at the miserable reporter. He knew that his self-control was always overtaxed while Ted was out. He welcomed the excuse to hurry into the Ops room where he could be that much nearer the teleprinter. Kane waited to speak until the door was closed behind Dennis.

“Of course the other groups may not be so bad.”

“They better not be,” said Brockhurst.

“I’m afraid you’re right. I warned General Dennis…”

“Dennis, hell! Do you think a brigadier’s a big enough burnt offering for a fiasco like this?”

Brockhurst could see Garnett stiffen with disapproval at this but he didn’t care.

“It’s not a fiasco, Brockie. If the public realized…”

“I’m the public and I don’t realize a damned thing. Anything you say afterwards is just alibis, R. G.”

“We’ll have claims, record claims.”

“All smoke clouds look alike. When there isn’t any story…”

Kane strode angrily to the wall and stripped back the curtain mask from the operational map. Garnett almost spoke in protest and then with a visible effort checked himself.

“Story!” said Kane furiously. “Story? It’s the most audacious air operation in history. Two successive strikes at the most distant and dangerous targets ever attacked in daylight… the very guts and core of Germany’s new fighter program. Look at this!”

He jabbed a savage finger into the red cross over Posenleben and then seizing a red crayon from the tray, made a heavy red cross through Schweinhafen.